


She Drives Me Crazy

by Ferrenbach



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Cars, Evil Sentient Vehicle Romance, Gen, Language, Phase Four (Gorillaz), Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrenbach/pseuds/Ferrenbach
Summary: Murdoc convinces the rest of the band (although he really doesn't care if they go or not, honest) to attend a motor show. His band mates have their eye on electric vehicles, but Murdoc prefers something classic (and possibly possessed).





	She Drives Me Crazy

“What’s for lunch?”

Noodle turned to face the doorway, offering Russel her best shopping channel smile.

“Pâtes sechées au gratin in a smooth, creamy sauce d’orange,” she said.

“You mistake me for a man with taste,” Russel told her. “There’s no shame in saying ‘boxed macaroni and cheese’.”

“Yeah, well… you know,” Noodle said, dropping the act to smile more naturally. “Murdoc gets weird about commercial food. Something about defiling the temple of one’s body, yadda yadda yadda, which is interesting coming from someone who only recently discovered basic physical hygiene. I sprinkle shredded cheese on his, add a sprig of parsley, and tell him it’s gourmet.”

“I din’t get no shredded cheese,” 2-D said, staring forlornly into his bowl.

“That’s because you’re kind enough not to make me work for nothing,” Noodle told him. When he continued to look hurt, glancing surreptitiously in her direction to see if she had noticed, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Fine,” she said, reaching out as he handed his bowl to her, “but only because I have some extra.”

“Thanks.” 2-D gave her his most charming smile as he took back his bowl. “It tasted good anyway though.”

“Toochi, I love you, but you’ve smoked three joints in the past hour. I could feed you the _box_ and you’d say it tasted good.”

2-D shrugged to indicate that Noodle might be right, but what was she going to do about it, and crammed a forkful of macaroni in his mouth.

“Well, I, for one, will be delighted to partake in your macaroni dinner with or without the added cheese,” Russel said. “Anything touched by your hand will taste like heaven.”

“Aww… Thank you,” Noodle said, ladling pasta into a bowl. “You’re my favourite, even if you just said that ‘cause you’re glad you don’t have to make it yourself.”

“Shit. You’re on to me,” Russel replied, taking the dish and joining 2-D at the table. “Speaking of Murdoc, where’s he at? I thought I saw him earlier, but he’s not usually up before noon.”

Noodle shrugged as she served herself a helping of pasta.

“No idea. He went out earlier for ‘a pack of fags and a bottle of joy’, but I haven’t seen him since.”

No sooner had she finished speaking, then they heard the front door open and close, and Murdoc strolled into the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, carrying a bottle, and perusing a paper flyer.

“Speak of the devil,” Russel said. He paused to consider this, and then added, “That might be literal.”

“Russel, you have my express permission to shut your gob,” Murdoc said, tossing the flyer on the table. “I see Noodle’s serving up today. What’s on the menu, love?”

“Pâtes sechées au gratin in a smooth, creamy sauce d’orange,” Noodle told him, re-affixing her shopping channel smile.

“French. I like it,” Murdoc said, grabbing a tumbler and collapsing into a chair as Noodle passed him his dish, jauntily garnished with parsley.

Russel picked up the flyer Murdoc had tossed aside, reading it as he ate.

“Motor show?”

“That’s what it says,” Murdoc replied, cracking the seal on the bottle and pouring himself a generous measure. “Second year, apparently. Not that I’d know. The industry wankers had me in chains last year.”

“I used to do the International Motor Show when I got the chance,” Russel said, his voice growing soft with nostalgia. “But you know that. We were there together a few times while the albums were on.”

“That’s where you got the idea for the Geep, isn’t it?” Murdoc said.

“I got an idea for a car,” 2-D said dreamily. “I’s like a cross between a monster truck an’ a dodgem, so you can drive over stuff and bump into it an’ ever’one’ll be safe.”

“Thank you for your contribution, 2-D,” Murdoc said. “Now go play with your toys. Adults are talking.”

“I dun got no toys ‘cause _some_ mad bastard drug me off to the middle of the ocean.” 2-D looked briefly thoughtful. “I could make some.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Murdoc snapped, pointing a warning finger at 2-D.

“Why not?” Noodle asked, curious.

“He built a little robot once,” Russel said. “Looked a bit like a cross between R2-D2 and one of those Dr. Who things.”

“A Dalek,” 2-D supplied.

“A Dalek,” Russel agreed.

“It was a two-foot rubbish bin that tried to take over the city!” Murdoc snapped.

“Just because it gained sentience, doesn’t mean it tried to take shit over,” Russel soothed. “There were some rough patches. It got sorted. No problem.”

“It had a flamethrower!” Murdoc protested.

“Only one shop caught fire and that was put out,” Russel said, unconcerned. “Fortunately, the owner was insured against all terror attacks, including alien invasion and robot uprisings.”

“I remember none of this,” Noodle said.

“The cops came while you were in bed,” Russel told her. “We didn’t want to wake you.”

“Joey’s a welder in Leeds now, I think,” 2-D added. “He still sends holiday cards to Mum’s house every year.”

“Can I get Joey’s number?” Noodle said, her eyes alight with a strange fervency. “I need to know. For… reasons.”

“Let the poor thing live its life, Noodle,” Russel advised. When she looked despondent, he added, “There’ll be plenty of other gadgets at the motor show. All the new tech packed into experimental vehicles, new showroom models—“

“And all the classics,” Murdoc interrupted. “Motor vehicles designed the way nature intended.”

“I dun think i’s _nature_ , really,” 2-D mused.

“You don’t think _by_ nature,” Murdoc said, stubbing out his cigarette and shaking out a new one. “I’m going. I don’t much care what the rest of you do.”

“I’m in,” Russel said. “I’m itchin’ to put together something new. This’ll be a great place to start.”

“I dun wanna,” 2-D said. “It’ll be noisy with lots of people.”

“I’m out too,” Noodle agreed. “If I wanted to look at cars, I’d sit by the highway.”

“You don’t have to just look at ‘em,” Russel said. “You can test drive some of them too. It’s not the usual thing,” he admitted when Noodle looked sceptical, “but they got it listed right here. It’s a closed course and probably not very big, but compared to not having one at all…”

He shrugged to indicate it was a pretty good deal.

“And D, it might be crowded, but you always find places to hide out. Besides, they got all the new, electric stuff. You love that shit.”

“For what it’s worth,” Murdoc snorted, and then hid his comment in a mouthful of pasta.

“I dunno…”

“One of the experimental vehicles they’re demonstrating is an ice cream truck that actually makes ice cream. You know, for that artisanal touch.”

“I’m in!” Noodle declared, slamming her fist on the table and grabbing the flyer.

“Well…” 2-D considered.

“Come on, Toochi,” Noodle wheedled. “We can get ice cream and zoom around on electric scooters. It says so here.”

“It says you can test them in the testing zone,” Russel corrected.

“Every zone is a testing zone as long as you don’t get caught.”

“I’ll go ‘cause you asked,” 2-D said. “I’m coming home if i’s bad though.”

“If the lot of you are done fighting, I’d like to enjoy Noodle’s cooking in peace,” Murdoc said.

“I’d like to enjoy my life in peace,” Russel sighed, “but somehow you just keep cropping up…”

 

 

 

“This is utter shite,” Murdoc huffed as he wandered past a number of similarly structured vehicles lined up for inspection. “Ninety percent of this fair is electric.”

“Not that much,” Russel said, reading specifications off a laminated tag. “Maybe thirty percent max. Could be fifty if you only count the new stuff. It’s a popular option now. I’m considering something in the line myself. Clean, quiet running…”

Murdoc sniffed. “It isn’t transportation unless they hear you coming the next town over.”

“You’re just cranky because you can’t smoke on the grounds. Think of it as stealth technology.”

Murdoc did so, and then offered a half-shrug and a tilt of the head.

“Could work,” he admitted, “but there’s also a matter of style. All these little electric cars look the same.”

“Yeah,” Russel agreed. “They’ve got smaller, lighter bodies and the trend is to make bigger cars look more compact. Nothing in the books says we can’t use any shape we want though.”

“It’ll still feel like a kid’s toy,” Murdoc snorted.

As if to illustrate his point, 2-D and Noodle swanned by an on electric scooter, re-enacting Titanic, an ice cream cone in each of Noodle’s hands. When they realized they’d missed their mark, 2-D nearly dropped Noodle in his mad scramble to sit and reverse direction.

“Pour vous,” Noodle said, holding the ice cream out, half-hanging over 2-D’s shoulder as he managed to brake in front of them. “Quick, before they realize we’re gone!”

Russel graciously took the chocolate cone thrust at him, but Murdoc eyed his with suspicion.

“What is it?” he said.

“Well, Russel’s is apparently an Americana, although one of the people in line kept referring to it as a Clusterfuck,” Noodle told him. “It’s got chocolate, and chocolate toffee bits, and cappucchino chips, and peanuts, and pralined pecans, and bits of pretzel—“

“An’ marshmallow,” 2-D added.

“And marshmallow,” Noodle agreed. “Probably some other stuff.”

“It’s pretty damned good,” Russel said.

“Sounds disgusting.” Murdoc peered at the second cone. “What’s this one.”

“Whiskey.”

“And?”

“Just whiskey,” Noodle assured him, “with a vanilla base.”

“Finally. A real fucking dessert,” Murdoc said and took the cone.

Noodle and 2-D sailed off. From the direction they’d come drifted shouts of alarm and annoyance.

“We should have hired them a nanny,” Murdoc commented, taking a mouthful of ice cream.

“How is it?” Russel prompted. “It taste like whiskey at all?”

“It does, actually,” Murdoc admitted, impressed in spite of himself. “Let’s rob the truck on the way out.”

Murdoc and Russel walked along the many rows of cars until they ventured near the classic car show. Most were only for display, but scattered signs indicated that some could be rented for special events and a few were even for sale.

“See, _that’s_ what I’m talkin’ about,” Murdoc said, stopping to admire a two-tone Plymouth. “Long, broad, lovely fins on the the back…”

“I see you like the Fury.”

A heavy-set man in casual business attire sauntered over to Murdoc and admired the car from their shared point of view.

“A fine vehicle,” he continued. “This particular item is part of an estate sale. The owner brought it over from America. It was painted black and silver, but it’s since been fully restored to its original factory specifications.”

“I can see,” Murdoc mused, nursing his cone. “It looks like it rolled off the showroom floor.”

“Really?” Russel said, reading over the vehicle’s history documents. “‘Cause I thought the 50s Fury series only came in white.”

The salesman shrugged.

“I don’t know the full history of the vehicle,” he apologized. “I only know that the documentation states it was originally red and white. It might have been a custom order.”

“Even smells new,” Murdoc murmured, tossing the cone aside to lean in closer to the vehicle. “Can I take it for a ride?”

“Only on the closed track, sir.”

“Your closed track is a lap around an arena,” Murdoc snorted.

“Nevertheless…”

“You aren’t seriously thinking of buying that thing, are you?” Russel said.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Really? ‘Cause I’d’ve figure you for something sleeker. Or at least the black and silver.”

Murdoc shook his head.

“No black and silver on a fine lady like this. You let her dress up to go out.”

“It’s a car, man. Not your girlfriend.”

“All cars are women, Russ, and some are fancier than others.”

“Aight, Muds. Whatever you say,” Russel said, looking sceptical, “but you know we don’t have room to store it. Not yet anyway.”

“Look, I’m gonna take this lady for a ride,” Murdoc said. “We can worry about storage later. Hand over the keys, mate.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to allow the valet to bring the vehicle to the track,” the salesman said. “If you would like to meet him there—“

“Fine, fine,” Murdoc huffed and headed toward the arena. “Bring it over. Name of Murdoc Niccals.”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, remembered the ban on smoking, and shoved them back in his pocket with an irritated grunt. Russel followed along with mounting unease.

“You really think you oughta be doing this?” he prompted. “I mean, we came here to get ideas for something new. You want a car that looks classic, we can work with that. This one? It’ll cost a fortune in petrol, never mind the upkeep.”

“It’d be worth it,” Murdoc insisted. “You can’t keep a woman without a little sacrifice.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re all about sacrifice,” Russel snorted. “Look, I didn’t want to bring it up ‘cause you don’t believe in all the stuff I see, but I don’t like the feel of it, you know?”

“Jealous?”

“Of what? The car? Sure. ‘Cause I want _more_ attention from your dumb ass.”

“Jealous that she chose me over you to drive her.”

“The fuck?” Russel said, gesturing to indicate confusion. “I never wanted to drive her… it. That thing. Bad vibes cling to it like grease in a diner. It’s an evil fucking car, man.”

Murdoc nodded wisely. “Sour grapes.”

“Fuck yourself.”

Russel considered wandering off on his own and leaving Murdoc to his bad decisions, but morbid curiosity overcame him and he followed Murdoc to the arena that served as the closed test track.

It wasn’t much to look at, with only room enough to drive a tight loop at a slow pace, but it was enough to get a feel for a vehicle’s controls and test their responsiveness. Cars lined up outside the arena, their prospective drivers called forward to sign for their release as they reached the bay doors. Russel mounted the bleachers to watch the parade as vehicle after vehicle glided in and drifted around the loop.

It wasn’t long before the distinctive red and white Fury passed through the doors with Murdoc at the helm. The bassist drove sedately around the loop and Russel’s concerns had time to settle a little before the demonic growl of an engine revving in a confined space brought him to attention. Shouts of alarm and terror echoed through the arena as Murdoc peeled out of the closed course and into the fair ground.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Russel murmured.

 

 

 

There was no sign of Murdoc on the show grounds, but Russel could sense him in the vicinity. The air vibrated with barely contained chaos. He was so engrossed in tracking it that he didn’t register the tugging on his sleeve or react to it until Noodle called his name. She grinned widely as he looked down at her, her expression a rictus of utter terror.

“Russ-san,” she said cutely. “I think we have a problem.”

“You’re telling me,” Russel said before remembering that Noodle knew nothing of Murdoc. “What kind of problem are _you_ talking about?”

“Well… 2-D and I ditched the scooter somewhere safe and went to look at some of the new electric models and there was this experimental Tesla. It wasn’t available for test driving, but we could sit in it, and we did, and it had all kinds of gadgets and voice prompts, and we made some jokes about mech and old shows about talking cars, and 2-D thought he could reprogram some of the vocal cues, kind of for a lark, you know?”

Russel glared at Noodle as she gave him her most innocent look and began to talk faster.

“He had his mini laptop and wiring in his shoulder bag, so we found some wifi and downloaded some diagnostic stuff and snuck in while no one was looking and pretended to have a look under the hood and he plugged a bunch of stuff in and started playing with command prompts and he said there were a lot more options than he was expecting and he was going to try something, and… uh…”

“And… uh…?” Russel prompted.

“The Tesla’s got a mind of its own and thinks 2-D is its master and creator or mother or something,” Noodle finished up nervously. “Anyway, it’s got him wrapped up in the automatic seatbelt and won’t let him go and it kinda lunges at anyone who tries to get close.”

“Damn it. Not again,” Russel sighed.

“Again?”

“Long story involving a toaster,” Russel half-explained. “You were in bed. We didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’m starting to think you guys are living a whole second life while I sleep,” Noodle said. “Where’s Murdoc?”

“Ye-eah,” Russel drawled. “Here’s the thing…”

Screams and the crunch of metal emanated from the far end of the grounds and grew louder, riding on the roar of an engine. The Fury flew around the corner, clipping a row of vehicles as it did so, and screeched to a halt in front of them.

“—not need to ask for directions!” Murdoc shouted as the windows rolled down, seemingly of their own volition. He sat back with his arms crossed, looking obstinate.

“Um… Murdoc?” Noodle ventured. “We have a bit of a problem…”

“I’ll say we have a problem,” Murdoc returned. “This place is a bloody maze. Where the Hell’s the exit, Russ?”

“You can’t steal an entire car from a motor show, dumbass,” Russel told him. He spotted a large dent below one of the car’s fins. “Not that there’ll be anything left of it by the time you get it out of here, the way you’re driving.”

He and Noodle watched as the dent slowly worked itself out with a groan of stressed metal.

“Aight,” Russel said, eyeing the Fury’s unblemished body. “Two rows down, turn right, five rows, turn left, three rows right and out. Get that fucking thing out of here. Don’t bring it back to the house.”

Murdoc smirked at him. “Told you you were jea—“

“Help!”

2-D’s cries overpowered the warm hum of the electric car as it glided smoothly between the rows, pausing nearby to wrap its seatbelt around 2-D – who had slithered free and was attempting to crawl out the window – and draw him back inside.

“Russ!” 2-D called from inside the vehicle. “You gotta talk to ‘er, Russ. She dun wanna let me go! She—“

“Get the fuck out of the way, Dents!”

2-D turned to look at Murdoc, catching sight of the Fury. He screamed in terror and started fumbling with the steering column.

“Run, Tess! Run!” he shouted. “Go! Go! Go!”

The Fury revved its engine and drew back slightly, preparing to lunge.

“Murdoc, what the hell are you doing?” Russel called.

“Not a damned thing,” Murdoc said, lifting his hands off the steering wheel.

In spite of Murdoc’s lack of involvement, the Fury surged forward, headed straight for the Tesla. 2-D screamed a second time, and then the electric car swooped out of the way at the last possible second, threading between the rows of cars with the Fury hot on its tail. Heavier and less manoeuvrable than the Tesla, its rear bumper dragged along the side of a vehicle as it took the corner, Murdoc shouting obscenities from behind the wheel.

“We have to do something!” Noodle cried, clutching Russel’s shirt sleeve.

“I just wanted a quiet afternoon looking at cars,” Russel said. “Every goddamned time I think I’m gonna get something done, these two idiots fuck it up. It’s like the Elder God invasion all over again.”

“The what now?” Noodle said.

“Oh, Murdoc got drunk on flaming shots and ‘accidentally’ opened a rift into the Void with a pocket knife, a handful of corn nuts, and some kind of habanero pepper sauce,” Russel informed her. “You were in bed—“

“You didn’t want to wake me,” Noodle finished. “I’m never sleeping again.”

Screaming from the test track caught their attention and they ran toward the arena, forcing their way through the spectator gate and into the bleachers. The Tesla swept along the floor below them, hugging the wall. It leapt forward with a burst of speed as the Fury barrelled straight across the arena, crushing traffic cones beneath its tires. The Fury missed slamming into it by an inch and swerved to follow the Tesla’s bumper, dragging its rear quarter against the arena wall.

Noodle and Russel scrambled back to avoid a shower of sparks and watched as the Fury bore down on the Tesla, which nipped back and forth to evade it. Beneath the roar of its engine, the squeal of twisting metal signalled the Fury’s restoration as its body worked itself back into shape.

The Tesla made little noise. The same could not be said of its prisoner.

“Stop it, Murdoc! Make it stop!” 2-D shouted through the Tesla’s open window.

“It’s your—“

Murdoc furiously rolled down the window, which seemed to fight him every inch of the way.

“—own bloody—“

The window rolled up.

“—fault, you—“

And up.

“—stupid git—“

And up.

“Fuck!”

“Toochi! Can you get out while it’s distracted?” Noodle called from the stands.

“Are you barkin’ mad?” 2-D hollered back from the Tesla. “They’ll run me over!”

“That’ll solve one third of my problems!” Murdoc shouted at him through a crack in the Fury’s window, having wedged it open with his wallet.

“Can’t hear you, you old goth. Your bleedin’ car’s too loud!” 2-D snapped back, and then yelped as the Fury tore at him, aiming for the driver’s side door. The Tesla feinted and narrowly escaped, coming around to test fate and glide provocatively past the Fury with an inch to spare.

“Now it’s just being coy,” Russel said in the tone of someone who wishes they had some popcorn. “That’s a tease if I ever saw one.”

“Are you not concerned?” Noodle demanded, gesturing anxiously toward the ongoing battle in the arena. “They’ll be killed!”

“It would be a damned shame if D were turned into paste,” Russel admitted, bypassing Murdoc entirely, “but I can’t say I’m worried. That Fury should have crushed him and the Tesla into the wall ages ago. The Tesla might be lighter and faster, but the arena’s not that big of a space. A really determined mini-tank plowing clear through the centre should have hit it at least once.”

“You make it sound like they’re flirting,” Noodle scoffed.

“Well, there was that one incident with the—“

“Russel, I want you to start waking me up,” Noodle commanded. “I don’t care if the world’s ending or if Peter Rabbit invites you to Cotton Candy Land, wake me up. My sleep habits are apparently robbing me of important, life-altering information.”

A shriek from 2-D in response to another near miss drew them back to the action on the arena floor. The cars faced each other, idling, the Tesla’s hum drowned out by the menacing rumble of the Fury. They leapt at each other head-on, tires squealing, locked in a deadly game of short-range chicken. The Tesla jigged to the right at the last possible moment, passing near enough to the Fury to make the cushion of air between them sing. Both cars swung around, hugging the wall on opposite sides of the arena, and then turned back toward the centre, swinging around sharply in the middle of the track.

The driver’s side door of each car popped open as they stopped on a dime, violently ejecting their passengers out onto the arena floor. 2-D scrambled to his feet and bolted for the bleachers, but Murdoc stood his ground and demanded his wallet back. The Fury complied, rolling down its window and letting the wallet fall to the floor, but not before smacking Murdoc with its door, causing him to stagger back and fall on his ass.

The Tesla’s engine revved quietly, and then it flashed its brights and glided out through the bay doors. The Fury peeled out after it.

“Slag,” Murdoc muttered, joining the others in the stands.

“I’m sorry you’re old and your car was a cougar,” Russel said.

“It wan’t a Cougar,” 2-D chimed in. “It wan’t even a Mercury…”

“Dents, I need you to stop talking,” Murdoc said, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, inhaling deeply. “Immediately if not sooner.”

2-D looked fidgety. “You’re not supposed to smoke—“

“Fuck you and fuck their rules,” Murdoc replied, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “I just got thrown out of a car on their show grounds. They’ll be lucky if I don’t sue.”

“Good point,” 2-D agreed and lit one of his own.

“D, I think they’re going to take a tougher stance on marijuana,” Russel told him.

“I’s only half. And yeah, fuck ‘em,” 2-D said.

“I wonder what’ll happen to them,” Noodle said, looking towards the bay doors through which drifted screams of terror, the crunch of metal, and the shattering of glass.

“They’ll have baby cars, prob’ly,” 2-D said.

“Dents, they’re machines,” Murdoc snapped. “They don’t have the parts to give birth.”

“Cars aren’t _born_ , they’re _manufactured_ ,” 2-D said. “You can get _parts_ anywhere.” He glanced around at his bandmates, struck dumb in slack-jawed horror. “An’ you call _me_ a stupid git.”

“Is this how hybrids are made?” Noodle said.

“Fuck this bullshit,” Russel said. “I’m not waitin’ around for the evil hybrid uprising. I’m going home.”

“Can we go back past the ice cream truck on the way out?”

Russel sighed. “Noodle, you already had ice cream.”

“I have no problem with more ice cream,” Noodle told him.

“I could go for more ice cream,” 2-D agreed.

“I lost mine,” Murdoc added.

“You threw it away,” Russel reminded him. “Just like your car did you.”

“Russel—“

“So we all need more ice cream,” Noodle insisted.

“Fine, but then we go home,” Russel said. “D, give me hit of your spliff, man. I need it.”

2-D did him one better and passed him one of his own. No one commented on any of them, even when Noodle shook a cigarette out of her pack and lit it on the open show grounds. They figured it might have something to do with the commotion at the other end of the venue, but did their best to ignore it and hunted up the ice cream truck. It was abandoned when they found it, so they helped themselves and continued on their way.

“Did you end up finding any ideas for a new vehicle?” Noodle prompted.

“Not really,” Russel admitted, “but between the cone you brought earlier and this one, the ice cream’s been pretty damned good.”

“So… not a total loss, then,” Noodle said on their way out of the park.

From behind them came a crash and the distant wail of sirens.


End file.
